Booter To Have Loved And Socks
by CuteWhiteBunny
Summary: The last will and testament of one Perry the Platypus. [Crack, no ships]


"Carl, is this thing on?" Major Monogram snapped, tapping his (perfectly functional) microphone.

A thin voice drifted through the silence. "Everyone can hear you, sir."

"Good. Now, come and read this for me, I'm not not paying you to have to do it myself."

"Yes, sir."

After some shuffling, in which Carl, now a full agent, stepped in front of the microphone in all his scrawny glory, the reading began began.

 _I, Perry the Platypus, do leave my possessions to:_

Here, he paused, reading ahead with a worried frown. "Sir, it says-"

"Just read it," Major Monogram snapped.

 _To my family, the best owners any pet platypus could have, Phineas Flynn and Ferbs Fletcher,_

"Carl!"

"They're not here, sir." Hoping his superior's temper had been assuaged, he continued.

 _I leave my beloved hoverjet. She's served me well on many a mission, may she do the same for you._

Major Monogram's single eyebrow furrowed in Stern Disapproval™. "It's still a breach of policy."

"Let me handle it, sir," Candace said, fedora firmly in place, while Major Monogram fumed quietly over her recruitment into the O.W.C.A. for at least the 134th time... that week alone.

There'd been a lot of changes in how the O.W.C.A. had been run over the last few years, not least of which was allowing full humans employment again.

This meant, of course, that certain parts of the hierarchy could no longer get away with feigning ignorance when their subordinates aired grievances, not when the subordinates in question had voices and were not afraid to use them. Said sections of the hierarchy were naturally less than enthusiastic about this change.

 _To my sister, Candace Flynn,_

"'Sister'?" Candace echoed faintly.

 _for everything you've done for me, and to me, for standing up for what's right and, quite frankly, being a nuisance sometimes, but then again what's family for if not annoying the hell out of you, I leave you: a boot to the head._

- _THWONK_ -

Most of the gathered assemblage covered their heads, in case more boots started flying. That, and fear of Candace's legendary fury.

Candace herself rose to her feet, figuratively _burning_ with said rage. "You little _shit_!"

 _I suppose I'll leave you my lair too, since you're family._

"That's better," she said, and angrily sat back down.

 _To my loyal nemesis, the bane of my existence, Heinz Doofenshmirtz, I leave my hat. Wear it proudly, Heinz. I couldn't ask for a better enemy. Or a better friend. In addition, I leave you a boot to the head,_

- _THWONK_ -

 _for old time's sake._

"I always knew he cared," Heinz mumbled from the floor, crying tears of joy. And also pain, but mostly joy.

 _And a second for your driving._

- _THWONK_ -

To the surprise of absolutely no one, Heinz's next words were the usual "Curse you, Perry the Platypus."

Moving on.

 _And how could I forget your children? To Vanessa Doofenshmirtz, I leave my grappling hook. Don't let your father touch it, unless you_ want _it to have a self-destruct button._

"Hey!" Heinz protested.

Vanessa, safe on the other side of the room, sighed, resting her face in her hand the way she always ended up doing whenever her father was involved in anything at all. "Dad," she groaned. "He's right, you know. You've been talking about it since you gave up Evil."

"No I haven't," he lied.

 _And to Norm Doofenshmirtz, who I've always seen as a son,_

"At least someone does!" Norm said in his usual bright tone, with a fixed grin on his faceplate. Which isn't to say he was actually cheerful, as he was tragically unfamiliar with that particular feeling. No, as a robot, he'd been built that way, so that his father could pretend he wasn't hurting below the surface.

 _or nephew, maybe. Some sort of relation. The point is, you're family, no matter what your father says - Heinz, shut your pie-hole - so I leave you my remote-controlled baseball set. I may not be your actual father, but I can do this much for you._

Norm sniffled, despite the physical impossibility. Robots, as a general rule, were not built with the ability to cry. However, while the tears may have been fake, the emotions were achingly real.

 _Take Heinz for a walk sometimes, too. Get some fresh air, play a bit of catch. He could do with some time away from that stuffy laboratory. If he objects, which he probably will, just ignore it. I always did._

Faced with Norm's expectant grin, Heinz huffed, folding his arms. "I didn't agree to this."

 _And another boot to the head for Heinz._

- _THWONK_ -

"Oh come on!"

 _If you'd treated your son better in the first place, you wouldn't be in this position._

Heinz declined to respond, his first intelligent choice of the day.

 _That's family taken care of. To my fellow agent, Peter the Panda, after all the missions we've had together, all the times you've saved my life, and my nemesis, I leave you: a boot to the head._

- _THWONK_ -

 _That's for stealing my nemesis, you ass._

Peter raised a fist to the sky, one digit extended. _Well fuck you too, asshole._

They'd been great friends.

 _And to his nemesis, Professor Mystery, who fucked over the rest of us when he couldn't open his damn mouth and backstory like a reasonable nemesis, I also bequeath a boot to the head._

- _THWONK_ -

"That was _one time_!" Mystery whined.

Both Heinz and Peter, also affected by his failure to communicate 'that one time', glared at him.

 _But it's not all bad. You've changed, grown, opened up like you should have in the first place. Still, no matter what you've done, you kidnapped my nemesis so you get a second boot to the head._

- _THWONK_ -

Knocked flat on his face for the second time in as many minutes, Mystery groaned in pain, declining to stand back up.

 _And a third for trying to kill him._

- _THWONK_ -

"Ow..."

 _He may be an idiot, but he's always been_ my _idiot nemesis. And I promise, if anyone gets any bright ideas to hurt him now that I'm gone, I_ will _come back to haunt you._

Heinz sniffled, touched by the devotion. And also missing his nemesis terribly. The space where Perry should have been _ached_ , more than anything. No one could replace Perry, not in the friendship they'd built or the fights they'd enjoyed up until the end.

 _And to Major Francis Monogram,_

Carl, skimming ahead, gulped. With a valiant effort to keep his voice steady, he continued.

 _the man who had a hand in my training and probably my death, who would always give me a mission while he himself took the day off, who insisted I hide who I am from my family, I leave, not a boot to the head,_

The relief was palpable. Even Mystery, hiding under a table in case another boot was sent his way, let his shoulders down from around his ears.

Alas, it wouldn't last.

 _but a memento. Every chair in your house, every cushion, blanket, and pillow, every blanket, every bed,_ all _of your fine linen, your comfortable chair at OWCA headquarters, and even your clothing, I have personally peed on. You're welcome._

"I'm glad he never peed on _my_ furniture," Heinz whispered through his tears to Peter, who politely declined to inform him of 'Agent Pee's' reputation and how Perry had acquired it.

After all, one never spoke ill of the dead. Even if they _were_ an insufferable prick.

Monogram, however, did not take the news so kindly. "Carl! What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "He can't do that!"

"Sorry, sir, that's what it says."

Having had enough, Peter the Panda, ever the gentleman, came up behind Major Monogram. In under a second he'd wrapped a paw around the man's mouth to silence him and gestured Carl to continue. Anyone who knew him well, which in this case meant Heinz and Heinz alone, could see the amusement upon his face.

 _Lastly, to Carl the Intern,_

"Oh no, that's me," Carl said, looking up. "I don't want a boot to the head."

 _who I am sure is the executor of my will despite my request, who has suffered alongside me, through long workdays and pointless briefings and far too many budget cuts, most of which are the result of Major Monogram's fucking incompetence,_

Shuffling awkwardly, Carl avoided Major Monogram's unamused, and unwillingly silent, gaze. "Agent P's words, sir, not mine."

 _I leave my accumulated time off. May you use it where I couldn't._

"That's nice of him," Heinz said, through another round of sobs.

Consulting his official O.W.C.A.-provided tablet, Carl frowned. "He had three months saved up? Has he _ever_ had a day off?"

Major Monogram declined to answer. Even after Peter released his mouth.

Meanwhile Candace, sitting in the corner, fumed. On Perry's behalf, of course, rather than blaming him for not spending time with family the way she would have two years ago. She'd learned, by now, how OWCA ran things.

'Time off' was but a cruel joke, at the agent's expense when they inevitably _had_ to be called in anyway.

And Carl knew it.

So, with a disappointed shrug, he turned back to the reading and continued.

 _And a boot to the head._

- _THWONK_ -

"...There it is."

Carl climbed back to his feet with a groan, standing behind the podium to read out the last section of the will.

 _As you all know, my pay was not the best - didn't even get overtime, let alone hazard pay - but I hope the years of saved paychecks will stretch enough to provide you all a lifetime supply of socks._

This, unsurprisingly, caused a stir.

"Socks?"

"He's a platypus, why would he need _socks_?"

"My feet don't smell _that_ bad, do they?"

"...Socks."

"What _kind_ of socks?"

The answer to the last one, of course, was:

 _Boot to the head._

- _THWONK_ -

* * *

 **AN: Crossposted from ao3, go there if you want to see more of my shenanigans. Especially if you want more Agent Pee, bc that's one of my favourite jokes right now.**

 **Side note, if you haven't seen that Phoenix Wright Boot To The Head video, you're missing out.**

 **There is nothing I don't love about the fact Perry canonically has a will. Especially the fact it came up via Heinz's driving. (Hence the comment here XD)**

 **Thanks for reading!**


End file.
